The Ebon Crusade: Introduction

I would like to start the post off by apologizing for the long hiatus which immediately followed the blog's creation. It must have seemed apparent that it was to have been stillborn, much like the one that served as its inspiration. Yet, here is another post. A breath of life. This is an interpretation based on my memory of the first D&D campaign I created. It begins the story which my campaigns still follow. Since the players I was with at the time had different characters than they do now, I've changed a few things to tie it all together. In the future, I will be more adherent to the actual happenings of a given adventure. In the meantime, I give you The Ebon Crusade.

The Ebon Crusade

Introduction

       It was night. And though Rith sat in the warm confines of a small village tavern, his thoughts more closely resembled the weather outside: bleak, and cold. A fire burned softly nearby and the band played a lively and jovial tune, but he could appreciate neither. Rith was sullen and, despite his best efforts, deep in thought. For no amount of ale could wash away the memories of his past. Even as his other senses became blurred by the drink’s effect, he continued to be disturbed by the disobedient surges of memory, which refused to let him forget the horrors he had seen.

       As he tried vainly to distract his mind by focusing on the sound of the rain falling on the tavern’s roof, he became dimly aware of the door being thrown open behind him. At last the cry of the herald broke him from his revere. The man appeared in equal parts terrified, exhausted, and drenched with rain. “Anuos has returned!” he shouted hoarsely. All noise in the tavern immediately ceased. The herald continued on, leaving the place in a stunned silence. Rith groggily registered the significance of the name. It was familiar to him, but its meaning was lost to the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed.

       Suddenly, Rith found himself awakened by the sound of a woman’s panicked scream. He lay in a patch of weeds within spitting distance of the tavern, but the memory of his journey from there to here was now entirely gone. As he attempted to drag himself to his feet, he was nearly thwarted once by the onset of a splitting headache, and again by a brief bout of dizziness. He was soon successful in standing however, and the source of the scream made itself apparent. A group of men was laying waste to the town, slaughtering everyone in sight and systematically setting fire to the buildings. Rith saw in these men the perfect excuse to vent his frustration on a living thing.

       There were nine of them, each wielding a sword and torch. They hadn’t seen him yet. Rith reached over his shoulder and wrapped his fingers around the familiar contours of his sword’s grip. He closed his eyes, inhaled, and let his mind go blank. Opening his eyes, Rith pulled his blade from its sheath and stepped forward, tearing a path through space to a spot directly behind the rearmost member of the raiding party. The sudden appearance of a foe from no apparent source proved delightfully shocking for Rith’s enemies, as always. Before there was much time to react, he had slaughtered eight of them, leaving their corpses lying about on the street in puddles of blood.

Rith pinned the final invader to the ground, his foot on the man’s chest. He was dressed simply, in the clothes of a peasant, but his eyes were solid white, lacking pupils and faintly glowing. Unnerved, Rith drove his sword through the thing’s head, ending it life. More unnatural abominations were the last thing he has wanted to see today. Still, this was less than likely to be an isolated event. Such violent and organized attacks rarely were. The rational part of Rith’s mind told him to leave this village and never return, but his conscience refused to allow it. Perhaps one of the citizens would know the cause of this . . . if there were any left.